Clair de Lune



Clair de Lune


Hills hold handsome in starch-white

Collars, as a winter moon rises, erasing

The darkness tucked deep between trees,

And the field appears like a vast canvas

That’s been stretched taut by wooden slats

Of barn and crooked fence posts. Now we

Await a mutable landscape, deaf with cold

And drawn from whimsy, of eerie silhouettes

Formed by leafless branches and glazed

Thickets of evergreens etched upon the snow

In cold chiaroscuro, as the moon glides

Light-footed across the heavens rummaging

Thru its monastic sack for fragments of chalk –

Mica-black, quarry-gray and a rare, sparsely

Used silver-blue – that’s sliding down metal

Roof tops and frosting layers of pond ice –

Before the canvas is altered by thin strands

Of cloud and delicate wisps of snow dust.



 John Muro


A resident of Connecticut, John’s a graduate of Trinity College, Wesleyan University and the University of Connecticut. His first volume of poems, In the Lilac Hour, was published last fall by Antrim House, and it is available on Amazon. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in numerous literary journals, including River Heron, Sheepshead, Third Wednesday, Moria, Ariel Chart and the French Literary Review. 

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